Emma looked around wildly, trying to find her son. She had heard Griff’s mournful howl, and she prayed she wasn’t too late. Where was he? She closed her eyes again, willing her second sight to service her in her time of need. Her eyes snapped open, and she rounded the porch. She looked down the driveway. There he was. A wretched, rotting corpse of a girl was pulling her son into her aura.
Chase felt himself drawn closer to her. His heart was pounding, squeezing pain in his chest. Trickles of sweat rolled down his spine as he struggled to breathe. He was mesmerized by her beauty, and he felt a deep desire to kiss her, to consume her. Somewhere, deep in his soul, a warning sounded to resist her, but it was hopeless. He was meant to be with this beautiful creature. Her lips, so soft, so sensual, were begging to be crushed by his. He felt himself succumbing to the pressure on his neck that was pulling him closer and closer to her.
“Chase, no!” Emma screamed. Ariana turned and hissed at Emma. Emma began to run. Then Ariana grinned, hideously and triumphantly drawing Chase into her embrace. He fell toward her, bringing his arms around her tiny waist. He drew her to him and she raised her lips to his, eager for the kiss she knew he would deliver.
“No!” Emma screamed again, as she un-stoppered the ancient bottle. A vile stench filled the air. Chase gasped as the odor reached his nostrils, causing him to stumble backward. Ariana turned toward Emma, her face a hideous mask of anger. Emma raised her arm and flung the contents of the bottle toward Ariana, covering her with the disgusting contents. Some of it splashed on Chase’s arm and he yelped as the liquid seared his flesh. Ariana staggered, but recovered quickly. Her skin smoked where the liquid covered her, her flesh blistering and instantly oozing, turning into strands of rotting meat as it dripped to the ground.
Emma chanted ancient tongues as fast as she could. She averted her eyes from Ariana’s and refused to look at her son as she continued to whisper, desperately trying to remember everything she had ever been taught, the litany that had been handed down through the years from all her ancestors in case this day ever came.
With her eyes closed, Emma didn’t see Ariana straighten up, nor did she see Chase move once again into her embrace. Ariana locked both rotting, blistering arms around him and brought her decaying lips against his. Chase felt his emotions melting, then curiously start to die, as if he no longer cared about anything at all. His soul tried to fight, willing him not to go, but he was being dragged into the darkness that was Ariana. Her kiss deepened, drawing him in…
“No, you don’t, you bitch. Let him go!” Reagan grabbed Ariana by the arm. Reagan didn’t flinch as handfuls of rotting flesh came off of the bones. Ariana turned to Reagan, her black eyes flashing dangerously.
“He’s mine. I already have him,” Ariana cackled.
“No, you don’t,” screamed Reagan, as she buried the starfish pendant in Ariana’s rotten heart.
Chapter 28
I am going to hell,” Emma said, sadly. She measured the herbs carefully into the boiling liquid.
“No, you aren’t. You are taking care of the people you love with the gifts you have.”
“This didn’t work well last time,” Emma said, desperately.
“We were kids. Your gifts weren’t developed, and you had a lot to learn. You’re older and your skills as a healer are strong.”
“I hope so. I feel wrong doing this, but I think this is the only way they will both heal.”
“Will they remember anything?” asked Willow.
“Only what we want them to,” said Emma. She carried two cups of tea over to the two teenagers who sat shell-shocked on the couch. “Here. Reagan. Chase. Drink this, then get some sleep. I promise you will feel better in the morning.” As they drank, Willow and Emma told them stories of their summer, adding some details and leaving out others. Soon, Chase and Reagan’s eyes were heavy. They slept.
Epilogue
Is Sammy settled okay back there?” asked Reagan’s mom as they turned off the country road and onto the freeway ramp.
“Yeah. Luckily, he’s still small and fits okay in that travel crate. He is doing so well on his potty training he hardly needs it, but he’ll be safer in his little portable den.”
“Did you have a good summer?”
“Yep, it was great. After all, I found the best friend ever. Sammy is wonderful. Thanks for letting me get him.”
“I think he is pretty good, too. I’m sorry it was such a lonely summer. You were pretty isolated out there at Willow’s. I’m sorry there weren’t many people your age.”
“It’s okay. I met a couple of kids. They were nice and everything, but I was the odd man out, just here for the summer. I did get a lot of reading in, and just relaxed, you know? I’m glad you could come home early. It was a nice surprise.”
“Do you think you would like to come back here again, just to visit? I want to stay in contact with Willow. After all, she is your dad’s sister. It seems like we should keep up with the family. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah, maybe that is a good idea. I feel like I have some unfinished business here, but I don’t know what it is.”
“Maybe it’s that cute boy. What was his name? Chase or something like that?”
“Yeah, Chase. He seems nice. His mom seems nice, too. I really appreciate that they came over with that salve for Sammy’s cut. I’ll be honest. That boy was easy on the eyes. I only met him once or twice, but I think he’s a good person. Maybe, if we come back, I’ll get to know him better.”
“So, I was thinking of doing some sightseeing on the long drive home, like taking a mini vacation together. Are you up for it?”
“Sure, as long as we can take Sammy wherever we go. What were you thinking?”
“I have always wanted to go to Salem, Massachusetts. Does that sound good?”
“Um, Mom, that’s not, ‘on the way home,’ but yeah. It sounds great.”
Reagan and her mom meandered down the coast, enjoying the time catching up with each other. Reagan’s mom had great stories of her time oversees with the troops, and Reagan told her mom about Cora Rose’s amazing cooking. They talked about trying some of the recipes Cora Rose had given Reagan when she left.
When they reached Salem, they played tourist, seeing all the typical sights. Both of them fell silent as they gazed at the Salem Witch Trials Memorial on the edge of The Old Burying Point. Reagan felt uneasy as she stared at the names. Something was tugging at the back of her memory. Shrugging it off she turned away, Sammy following at her heels. They walked to the Waterfront and wandered in and out of the shops, laughing at some of the silly witch souvenirs.
At one of the shops, Reagan and her mom bought some artisan soap, and they discovered some of Willow’s pottery on the shelves. They marveled at the exquisite designs.
“It’s funny. Willow is kind of gruff and rough, but her pottery is beautiful and delicate. It’s strange how you don’t always see the other side of people if they don’t let you,” mused Reagan.
They passed an antique shop when Reagan suddenly stopped.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I… I just really want to go in there.”
“Okay, but I didn’t know you were into antiques.”
“I’m not,” said Reagan, “but maybe living at Willow’s and being surrounded by them has me curious. Let’s go in.”
They wandered around looking at the beautiful old things, exclaiming at the prices. Reagan wandered to a case of old jewelry. Gazing inside, her eyes fell upon a pedant.
“What did you find?” her mom asked.
“Look at that starfish pendant. I love it.”
“Would you like to see something?” An old woman with long blonde hair wearing a weird flowered caftan pulled a key from her pocket.
“Yes, that starfish pendant right there.”
The lady opened the case. Sammy whimpered, softly.
“Oh, I think Sammy has to go outside.”
“I’ll take him,” said her mom. “Take your
time and look all you want.”
Her mom scooped up Sammy and headed for the door. The lady handed Reagan the pendant.
“This is very old. I had it checked by an expert. He said this was handmade, probably by a sailor or a ship’s captain. See the intricate knots on the string? Those are knots that sailors used to use on the big old sailing ships. It’s really a unique piece, and the string is in remarkably good shape for its age.”
“I’ll take it,” said Reagan opening her wallet and extracting several bills.
“Hold on, I’ll wrap it for you.”
“No thanks, I’ll just wear it.” Reagan turned from the counter and placed the necklace around her neck.
“Here, let me help you.” Delicate fingers tied the ancient strings. The beautiful blonde lady smiled as the starfish settled on Reagan’s chest. Reagan lifted her fingers to touch the starfish, feeling strangely comforted as the black metal warmed her flesh.
* * *
Did you enjoy The Starfish Talisman?
Thank you for taking time to read my book, The Starfish Talisman. It was a hoot to write. One night I had to quit writing and hide under the covers, because I had spooked myself. All the years of listening to my mom tell about the wolves under the dining room table must have given me the willies!
If you enjoyed the book, please take the time to review it. Reviews are what help authors stay alive to write another story. Please leave your review on Amazon and Goodreads.
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* * *
Thank you and journey on,
* * *
Lark
Acknowledgments
I want to thank all of the people who made this book possible, especially my mom for telling me the stories of the house on Crittenden Avenue and the wolves she used to see under the dining room table.
I also want to thank my teen readers Alexis, Charlie, and Char, and my adult readers Joe and Mary. Their encouragement and suggestions are always appreciated.
Jennifer Sivec also deserves mention. She has helped me so much on my journey to create my stories. She always responds to my messages for help, no matter what time or how bizarre.
I used a new editor for this book, J.C. Wing of Wing Family Editing. Thanks J.C. for helping me get to the next level. I am forever grateful for your encouragement and corrections.
Finally, I want to thank my husband, Joe, and my son, Charlie for tolerating all the evenings when I monopolized the couch and wrote for hours, or those times in the front of the truck on a road trip when you graciously turned off the radio and suffered in silence as I wrote. I love you guys. You are my life.
Also by Lark Griffing
The Last Time I Checked I Was Still Here
The Last Time I Checked, I Was Still Here is a coming of age adventure novel. Turn the page for a sneak peek.
The Last Time I Checked, I Was Still Here
1
Amy
The socks were the last straw, the breaking point. Despite all the heartache and abuse, the stupid socks are what did it. The socks made her leave.
Amy wound her way through the trees, taking the long way to the school. The sidewalks were the way to travel, but Amy wasn't having any of that. The sidewalks led past Ronnie's house, and you could bet Ronnie and the Ronnettes would be there, waiting for her, ready to pounce. It had been that way since the beginning of the year when Amy started her senior year at Maplewood High. Just another school in another place after a long line of schools. This one was the worst, however.
Usually Amy could fade into the woodwork. She was an average student, with, what she considered, average looks. Her transient nature made it difficult for her to make real, lasting friendships, except for Betsy. Betsy was three schools ago, and she was special. She was one of those people who could look into your soul and get you. Betsy got Amy. They became friends and that was that. Then, of course, Amy moved. Her dad got another transfer to supervise the building of another superstore, and off they went. Mom would never have let that happen, but Mom was gone and dad was lost, running from one job to another, filling his life, drowning the empty spaces that had been his beloved wife.
So, this morning, the morning of the socks, left Amy bushwhacking her way through the park, around the spreading maples that shaded the woods. Once she broke free of the trees, she had to traipse through the meadow until she reached the school. If all worked as planned, she would avoid a meeting of Ronnie and her bevy of friends. Amy sighed. It was pathetic that this group of small town girls wanted so badly to be the up and coming mean girls. They were good at it, and Amy was tired of it.
She slipped into the cool hallways and slid around the stairwell to her locker. That was the best thing about this school. Her locker was hidden in a cramped alcove behind a stairwell. It kept her out of the main flow of traffic. She preferred it that way, not being interested in funneling to class with the in crowd. Amy just wanted to be left alone. She stowed her hoodie on the hook in the locker and grabbed books and for her first three classes.
She turned around and bumped smack dab into Ronnie and the Ronnettes.
“Hey, skank.” Ronnie looked Amy up and down, appraising her outfit, her hair, her whatever. Amy ignored her and tried to move around her to head to class. “I'm talking to you skank-girl,” said Ronnie.
“What is it you so desperately need, Ronnie?” Amy asked, her eyes steady on Ronnie's.
“Nothing, just wanted to wish you a good morning.”
“Oh my God! Check out at her socks,” squealed Fawn. Fawn was the outlier in the Ronnettes. She didn't look like she fit in with the spray of pimples across her forehead and her slightly jutting, not yet brace adjusted upper front teeth. Her daddy, however, owned the local movie theater, and Fawn could get all her friends in free. Instant popularity for the not so pretty girl. “What’s all over her stupid socks?”
Amy looked down with the rest of them. Her socks were covered in burrs, each clinging to the fabric like tiny porcupines. There were burrs upon burrs stuck to her, bunching the bottoms of her jeans in an unnatural manner. Amy could feel her face burning with heat. The meadow. In order to escape Ronnie and the Ronnettes, Amy had cut through that meadow. She was concentrating so hard on not being seen, she didn't even notice the hitchhikers that made their home on her socks. The girls surrounding her began to laugh and jeer. Amy, with her face burning even hotter, shoved her way through the group and headed to class. She wouldn't let them have the satisfaction of knowing they really got to her this time. She would not dissolve into tears.
She dropped her books on her desk in Mrs. Parcher's class, mumbled a quick, “I need to go to the bathroom,” and then made her escape around the corner into the ladies' room. There, she shut herself in a stall and began the painful process of removing all the burrs.
It didn't go well. Each time she tried to pull a burr off, it split in half and left individual barbs embedded in her socks. Not only were they unsightly, but they worked themselves deeper into the fabric and began to rub uncomfortably at her ankle. She was doomed. She kept picking at them, oblivious to the time slipping away. She didn't want to head back to class with the remaining burrs still clinging to her socks or digging into her flesh.
“Hey, um, Amy, are you okay?” asked a voice Amy didn’t recognize. “Mrs. Parcher thinks you've been in here for a long time and is worried that something is wrong. So, God this is embarrassing, are you like, okay?”
“I'm fine, thank you. Please tell her I’ll be out in a minute. I'm sorry you had to come check on me, even though I can’t see who you are.”
“It's Ginny, and no worries. Actually, it's better than listening to old Parcher droning on about reconstruction of the South.”
“Good point,” Amy said. She opened the door of the stall and stepped out. Her face was red from bending over so long and there was a handful of burrs and sock fuzz mashed up in her palm.
“What the hell is that?” said Ginny. Amy realized, too late,
that she should have flushed the whole mess down the toilet.
“Okay, so I took a shortcut through the meadow trying to avoid Ronnie and the Ronnettes and got burrs stuck in my socks.” Amy realized her gaffe as soon as it left her mouth.
“Ronnie and the Ronnettes? That's hilarious.” Oh great, thought Amy, by lunch the whole school will know. Ginny was a nice girl, but her tragic flaw was that she could not keep her mouth shut. This day was getting worse by the minute. Amy gave one last tug at the bottom of her jeans and headed out of the bathroom. She could still hear Ginny muttering about the new girl band. Amy's heart sank when she saw the flash of Ginny's cell phone and knew it was all over. Ginny couldn’t wait to share all the gory details.
Amy stayed slumped in her chair for the rest of Parcher's monologue on the South after the war and escaped the minute the bell rang. She had been thinking for the last thirty minutes what she could do to minimize the damage, but there was just no hope. Her life was going to super suck from this moment on.
The bell rang, dismissing the class. Amy gathered her things and began to walk to her next class, but then passed it and went out the side door of the school instead. She hit the meadow with a purposeful gait. This time, she recognized the tearing of the burrs at her socks, but that didn't stop her. She was done. She was over this town, this place, this life, and things were going to change.
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